Page 80 of The Wrong Move

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

I quicken the pace, driving deeper yet still gently. I faintly acknowledge pain in my knees and elbows, but I don’t stop, overwhelmed with desire and wanting to give Giana the orgasm she craves.

A new memory.With me.

We arrive backin Rome around nine thirty, and Giana books us in for dinner at a restaurant a block from her hotel. While she is in the bathroom, I inquire about a violinist, which took longer than necessary with the communication barrier. It’s the last thing on my list to make the trip as romantic as possible.

I end the call as she emerges from the bathroom. She drops the towel near her suitcase, and my breath hitches. Not at the sight of her beautiful body but the scratches on her back. “Gi…” I go to her and kiss her shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” I run a finger over the raised red marks.

She turns and smiles. “You ought to see the other guy.”

I laugh. “Yeah. He’s pretty cut up.” I kiss her shoulder. “But it was worth every second with you.”

“Byron,” she says breathily. “Please don’t regret anything because I’m enjoying every minute with you. My regret is we don’t have more time. There is so much more I want you to see.”

I kiss her shoulder again and rub my hands along her bare arms. “Next year, in the offseason, we’ll plan a vacation here, and you can show me all the places. Make a list.”

She smiles again. “Why don’t you make lists?”

“I do, mental notes.”

“I need to write it down. I’m not as confident as you, and doubt is a killer.”

“Why do you question your decisions?” It’s the first thing our mentors taught us—trust the process be confident moving forward.

She turns, eyes wide. “I have always doubted myself.”

“Gi.” I take both her hands. “Doubt is a waste of energy. It doesn’t change the result or what you do tomorrow. We work hard toward our goals. I practice every day. If we lose, I practice the next day to be a better player. If we win, I still practice to be a better player.” I move strands of hair away from those brown eyes that are searching for understanding. “If your art is not what you thought, you either improve it or create another. If a deal goes sour, you propose other ideas. Doubting your ability gets you nowhere. Losing or winning is the same, just with different emotions. We get up and do it again, onlybetter. Whether we fail or succeed, the process doesn’t change.”

“You’re right,” she whispers. “I’ve wasted so much time doubting and procrastinating.”

“Now, get dressed so we can eat before I have to catch my flight.”

“I’ll be about twenty minutes to apply my makeup and style my hair.” She grabs her makeup bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes. I’m not going to waste it by sitting around.

I strip off my shirt and trousers, then grab the books on the coffee table and pile them on the floor. Sitting on my rear, I place the books to the side, and bending one leg to my chest, I wrap my arms around my knee for balance. I lift the extended leg and over the pile of books, back and forth twenty times before switching legs. Then I repeat it but faster. Positioning the books behind and to the side, I go on all fours, extend a leg and the opposite arm, and lift my straight leg over the book pile, back and forth. Switch legs. Repeat it faster.

I roll my ankle, stretching it out. Standing, I utilize the desk chair by lifting one leg and lunging into it, keeping my back leg straight and pushing into a deep Achilles stretch. Then I do the same without the chair, with extra pressure through the ankle.

I hop side to side, quicker, higher, then switch legs. My ankles feel great.

While I missed training, the rest is what I needed, and mentally, I’m recharged. Not by being in another country on a mini vacation but by being with Giana and seeing her in her element. Kicking goals. Being rewarded and applauded. It gives me a kick, even more than receiving my own accolades.

I finish up with jump lunges. It’s not enough to call it a training session, but it’s better than nothing, and I didn’t sweat, so I redress, sit on the bed, and wait a few more minutes for Giana.

The bathroom door opens, and I push up from the edge of the bed.

Wow.

“You look beautiful.” I lower my gaze, taking in her tight black strapless dress that clings to her waist before following her curves and ending midthigh. “Is it too late to cancel our dinner reservation?”

She smiles at me, lowers her eyes, and wipes her hands over the material. “It’s my favorite little black dress.”

“I don’t care what it is. I want it off you.”

She shakes her head. “Later, Byron. I still have a list for Rome I want you to see.”

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